Chapter XVII: Napper Plays His Last Card

The colonel of Jack’s regiment was a very strict disciplinarian, and absence without leave while on active service was an offence that, if proved, would bring very heavy punishment. This fact Jack and Will were quite aware of, and their feelings were very far from cheerful as they discussed the aspect of affairs.

‘It’s all that beast of a Napper’s doings,’ said Jack angrily. ‘I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that I shall have to go for him, even at the expense of getting a court-martial. His tyranny is more than I am going to put up with.’

It was, indeed, Napper’s doings, and he had spread a report that both Jack and Will had been heard to say they were sick of soldiering and were going to take the first opportunity to bolt.

It might have gone hard with both of them had it not been for Larry O’Callaghan, whose explanation of his absence had been at once accepted by his trumpet-major. In the afternoon he came over to the lines of the Lancers to see his friends, when to his surprise he heard from Sergeant Linham that they were under arrest.

‘By the howly piper!’ he cried, ‘’tis too bad. But I can upset that baste of a Napper. Shure the man that gave him the shtripes should have put ’em on his back, not on his arm. Now, sargint darlin’, we’ll confound ’em. We’ll find the other bhoys as was with us, and that’ll be enough evidence to upset even the great Dook himself if he was alive.’

He and Sergeant Linham set out for the camp of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers. There they soon found the little sergeant, who greeted Larry warmly.

‘You are a goot lad,’ he cried, ‘and, for a horse-soldier, fought quite pravely. You would almost do for a Fusilier.’

‘Shure now, you’re jokin’,’ said Larry, tipping a wink at Sergeant Linham; ‘I’d never be able to grow feet big enough.’

The sergeant might have made some fiery answer; but his major, who came up at the moment, stopped all further exchange of pleasantries by saying that he would himself bring over the sergeant and the other men of his regiment in the morning.

Sergeant Linham and Larry, after dropping in at the canteens of various regiments, found Andrew M’Farlane and the other artillerymen, and all was ready for the morning.

When Jack and Will came up in due course before the colonel, the major of the Fusiliers, who had arrived with his men and the artillerymen, begged to be allowed to say a few words, and the tale he told was such that it at once altered the aspect of affairs.

The two trumpeters were liberated, the colonel saying they had behaved as he hoped men of his regiment always would, by taking the part of the weaker against the stronger.

Corporal Napper was then arrested, tried by summary court-martial, and reduced to the ranks.

This Jack could not pretend to be sorry for, though, as he said to Will, ‘I would rather he had kept his stripes and been made to give up Dainty; the poor mare is only a shadow of what she used to be.’

Next morning Will was put in orders as corporal and orderly to the colonel, _vice_ Samuel Napper reduced, and Jack hastened off to congratulate his friend.

‘It’s the first step up the ladder,’ he said, ‘and no one deserves it better than you; before we get home you’ll be sergeant.’

‘If ever we do get home,’ said Will. ‘Last night there was a case of cholera in ours; Jenkins of C Troop died.’

‘Our first loss,’ said Jack sadly. ‘I wonder who’ll be next.’

During the days that followed, the dread scourge, cholera, raged in the camp; day after day the burying-parties were busy, and dozens died off. The heat was intolerable, the camp a regular hotbed of pestilence. The water was full of animalcules, and it was learnt that seven thousand Russians who had perished of cholera in the campaign of 1828 were buried in the vicinity of the British camp, the spot having been christened by the Muscovites ‘The Valley of the Plague.’

Many of the men took to drinking heavily, thinking thus to keep off cholera; alas! they only lessened their chances of avoiding it.

Napper continued to drink as before, and since his reduction he seemed to hate Jack more and more. One morning, at watering-parade, he and Jack being together and some distance from the others, the former, who was of course mounted on Dainty, could not get her down to the water. He dismounted and dragged angrily at her headstall; but the mare still refused to drink. Napper then kicked her twice, savagely, which so enraged Jack that he cried out, ‘Let her alone, you brute, or I’ll report you.’

‘I’ll treat you the same if you interfere with me,’ said Napper furiously, and he struck the mare on the muzzle, and was again about to kick her when Jack slipped from his own horse, and catching Napper by the collar of his jacket, hurled him on his back.

Napper arose, literally livid with rage. For a moment he could not speak; then with eyes blazing with rage he hissed, ‘John Blair, I hate you; you’ve been my curse ever since you joined. The same regiment isn’t big enough for us. You got me broke. I’ll have your life.’

‘You brought your bad luck on yourself,’ answered Jack.

‘You lie; it’s you; it’s always you. I’ll fight you; we’ll settle up once and for all.’

‘I’m ready.’

‘To-night, then, with pistols. Over against the cemetery. Bring two charges, and we’ll fight till one of us falls. We’ll end this.’

‘A duel?’ cried Jack aghast.

‘Yes, a duel.’

‘Rubbish! You’re mad.’

‘I’m not mad, and you shall fight or I’ll brand you as a coward all over the camp. The French duel, and so can we. You shall meet me, or in the first engagement we’re in I’ll put a bullet in your back!’

With these words Napper leapt on Dainty, and, digging in his heels, trotted away.

Jack was left standing, lost in amazement. A duel! The thing was unheard of! Yet to be branded as a coward, and to know that Napper was always on the lookout to take his life should they ever be engaged with the enemy! Truly he was in an awkward dilemma.

That day his troop went out on a reconnaissance, but Napper was never absent from Jack’s thoughts for an instant. He thought and thought, and at last determined on a course. He would meet Napper, whose mind he fully believed was unhinged; but he would not fire. If he should fall his death would be at Napper’s door, and he left a higher Power to avenge him.

Full of this thought, he was riding back in the evening, tired out with a long day in the saddle. As they neared the camp a burying-party of his regiment was coming out. The sight was now, alas! too common to excite more than a passing interest. Cornet Leland halted the troop, and they ‘carried lances’ as the party went by.

‘Wonder who it is this time?’ said Pearson to Jack; but the latter did not answer, he was busily thinking of his mad meeting with Napper.

He was coming from the horse-lines to his tent when he met Will, whom he determined to tell what he was going to do.

‘Good heavens, man!’ said Will when he heard; ‘what a strange thing. The hand of God is indeed evident.’

‘What do you mean, Will?’

‘That Napper was taken with cholera at ten o’clock this morning, and died at three. You must have passed his funeral as you marched in.’

Jack raised his cap. ‘God rest his soul!’ he said fervently; ‘truly His ways are inscrutable.’